


The Penis Curve

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:00:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney reaches for the remote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Penis Curve

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, never will be. daemonluna wanted a HIMYM story, and queenzulu did a lightning fast beta read. devohoneybee hand-held, even though this isn't her fandom. If there is a truer form of love, I don't want to know what it is.

There is a finite amount of time, Barney has decided, that a man's penis may touch another man in a non-sexualized manner before it turns awkward. It's not a huge amount of time, measured as it is in micro-seconds, but it allows for the accidental brushing of parts in busy or crowded parties and public transportation. Bros have more leeway in the time-to-awkwardness ratio in any given situation, but there really isn't any time to think. Actions must take place on a purely instinctual level. The world stands still.

It stood still last Tuesday, around two o'clock in the morning.

Barney, next to Marshall on the couch, went to reach for the remote control. Marshall, instincts dulled by the marathon of Mythbusters Tivo'ed for a 'First rule of Mythbusters marathons is, you don't talk about Mythbusters marathons, even to Ted (especially to Ted of the running commentary)', must have mistaken Barney's attempted trajectory. For a second, Barney's groin brushed against Marshall's thigh as they were both mid-air.

Barney, horrified, shifted immediately to the left but so too did Marshall. The contact remained virtually unchanged. Barney pulled away as Marshall tried to stand up. Accidental grindage occurred. The situation moved from awkward to embarrassing to full on mortifying.

There was no saving it. Marshall realized it as soon as Barney did. Marshal sat back, body stiff with the need for Barney to dismount his thigh. Barney, face burning red, attempted to regain his feet. They'd splayed somehow in the struggle, and Barney couldn't pull himself up and off without firmly planting his hands on the other side of Marshall's lap so that he could push away. He went to--he meant to, at least, even if it meant gathering the shreds of dignity around him, but Marshall reached out.

Barney tensed, expecting Marshall to push him off. Barney had clearly lost his momentum in this awkward, half-over Marshall's lap position. The sudden thickness in his cock was quickly explained away by the old fight-or-flight instinct that has been every boy's excuse for popping a boner in a public space since the dawn of time. Marshall had to have felt it against his pajama bottoms. Barney tried pulling away one more time, but only succeeded in rubbing himself even more thoroughly over Marshall's thigh. If the sofa could have swallowed him whole, as long as it removed his cock from Marshall's leg, Barney would have happily have been sucked down.

Sucked. The word in his head made Barney's cheeks flare up again. This was hell. He'd somehow died during the night and hell was him giving Marshall the world's worst lap dance for all eternity. But Marshall didn't push him away, or down, or off. He didn't push Barney at all. His hand came up, but his fingers stroked their way down the line of Barney's spine at the small of his back. Even through the pressed cotton shirt, Barney felt the touch with every nerve ending he possessed.

Time continued to move in slow motion, but then Barney realized it was just the high speed camera showing the exploding turkey from all directions. Time on this side of the television was progressing at its usual speed, which meant that his cock had been touching Marshall's thigh for a good four seconds. "Um, a little help?" he asked. All the blood had left his extremities and his face throbbed in time with his sudden erection.

Marshall didn't say anything. His lips parted, but the words that ought to have come out looked stuck. He did this thing where his whole hand suddenly cupped Barney's ass offside! Definitely offside! and he pushed, which sort of pulled Barney so that he was completely over Marshall's lap. The direct contact of his cock on Marshall's leg had shifted, and Barney, despite every intention he'd ever had, tried pushing himself back into the hand so that original pressure returned.

"Viewers with a delicate sensibility should probably look away," calm-narrator-guy advised. Barney couldn't help glancing up so that he could see Marshall's face. Marshall's lips were still parted, but he was biting down on his tongue. His wide eyes were only slightly puffy from the lack of sleep, his hair tousled in a way Barnie would need to hire a professional hair stylist to pull off. He was still stroking the small of Barney's back. How that small detail had escaped Barney's notice, Barney didn't know.

"Turn off the television," Marshall said.

It was not what Barney had been expecting him to say, but he found himself lunging for the remote that started this whole thing. The television beeped its cheerful "I'm turning off!" noise, and then they were alone in Barney's apartment.

"It's off," Barney said, needlessly. He had to break up the silence somehow.

"Shush."

Marshall's other hand, the one not working its way up Barney's shirt so that it now touched bare skin -- and wasn't that an interesting and unique sensation all on its own -- stroked Barney's face. Barney knew he could get up at any time and end this...thing before it got more...thingy, but he didn't. If anything, he pushed himself up onto his elbows just over Marshall's lap so that he could, god help him, shift his weight even more against the hard muscles of Marshall's thigh. The disconnect between what he thought he wanted to do (i.e. get up, adjust clothes to cover hard-on, make sarcastic remark and leave) and what he actually wanted (more of the sweet friction, please, with even more skin-on-skin contact) didn't seem possible. He saw himself getting off Marshall's lap and getting off on Marshall's lap at the same time.

Barney closed his eyes. What the hell. Worst case scenario, this was all just another confusing dream he could bring to the show-and-tell that was his therapy session. He exhaled, slowly, and ground his cock deliberately on Marshall, and not just because he could. The sensation was different. Harder than he was used to, but still worked for him in just the right way. They both wore too much clothing for it to be more than just high school groping, and he'd done far too much of that, thank you very much. "Just, um..."

"If you could--" Marshall said at the same time.

It broke the delicate stem of the moment and it crashed around them. The only thing left to do was disentangle limbs and go about their daily life as though this had never, ever, ever, ever happened. Barney was about to do just that, after he finished savoring the last bit of pleasantness the sensation had provided, when Marshall's hand came down over his left ass cheek.

It wasn't a slap, per se, but the important thing was it could have been. He froze, as Moment 2, the Electric Boogaloo began around them.

"Take off your clothes."

It hadn't been an order when Marshall had began it, but with the interruption, it had become definitely order-like. Order-ish, if Barney wanted, and Barney suddenly wanted. "Sure," he said, too quickly, and Marshall lifted the hand off his ass.

"All right then," Marshall said, suddenly magnanimous again. He wasn't smiling, at least. This had to be weird for him, too. His eyes were bright.

"I'll just do that," Barney said. His legs failed him again, of course, but this time he had Marshall there, gently pushing on his shoulders so that he could actually get his legs up and under him. He could stand, just as easily as he'd been standing for the last twenty-some-odd years years of his life. It was like that Twilight Zone episode where the lighter failed after the woman with all the missing fingers tried to light the cigarette. That almost killed the moment a second time, but it got a last-second reprieve as Marshall leaned back against the sofa and cracked his knuckles over his head. Watching Marshall's hands forced him to stop thinking about traumatic amputation, which definitely revived the mood further.

Barney glanced up, and then walked over to the storm trooper figure. He turned the helmet to the wall so that it couldn't judge him, and Marshall, from the sofa, nodded approvingly. The walk had limbered him up some, and he shook some of the willies out of his arms. He watched Marshall on the return, carefully, trying to see if there was even a flicker of this whole thing being nothing more than just a cruel, elaborate joke. Marshall would realize because he'd studied the Bro Code from cover-to-cover that there really wasn't a chapter on how to deal with casual frottage. Marshall crossed his arms over his chest, watching Barney intently while not actually looking like he was watching Barney intently. Barney realized with a strange flip to his stomach that this wasn't a joke at all.

Or if it was, Marshall was better at it than he was. Barney reached for his tie first, yanking it off perhaps a bit more roughly than he intended and the moment almost turned into a session of auto-erotic asphyxiation. It did nothing for his hard-on, though, so that was good news in a 'less likely to lead to awkward headlines/fun trivia fact about how Barney Stinson met his maker' kind of way.

Marshall kept staring at him. But a tie was nothing. A shirt coming off, though, that was the official start of things. Marshall leaned forward, lips parted again, and his breathing hitched. At least some things stayed the same. Barney actually felt himself smile. This was more like it. He could shimmy off a shirt in under 2.4 seconds, but he didn't want to look desperate. He even unbuttoned the cuffs so there would be no more awkwardness. He could do this, and still stay in control.

"The pants, too," Marshall said from the couch. "Don't forget the socks."

Or...not. Barney maybe stood a bit closer to Marshall's face when he actually unbutton his slacks. He stared at Marshall, daring him to look away just before Barney pulled them down. This was unchartered territory. The chapter on gym memberships and other accidental nudity situations between bros no longer applied. This was a bro, getting naked for another bro, so that first bro could spank the second bro over his lap in a Mythbusters-fueled attempt to get off.

So really, this was all Adam Savage's fault.

And his pants had stripped off without him, taking his underwear along with them, too. And his socks, now that he noticed. He'd even somehow folded them neatly on the floor. This wasn't like him at all. Marshall looked him up and down, but with a delighted expression on his face Barney hadn't been expecting. Then again he wasn't exactly standing next to a urinal.

"Clothes are off," Barney said, needlessly.

Marshall, damn his eyes, actually patted his lap in a 'come here, puppy' way. There weren't enough daggers on the lower east side to glare at Marshall in that moment. Barney took a deep breath, not knowing exactly where he was going end up but he was planning to start with "If you think--". But then Marshall winked at him and Barney shrugged. Considering he was going to let Marshall spank his ass, being summoned for it didn't really feel all that wrong.

It actually started to feel pretty good. He moved to the sofa before he could think much more on that.

More "if you could just--" and "I need to--"'s occurred, but Barney edited them out as they happened. The end result was him back over Marshall's still pajama-clad lap. Only this time Barney felt Marshall's hard cock against his hip. That was more like it. The smell of pre-come and cotton reminded Barney strongly of Saturday morning marathons of cartoons and masturbation. He tensed, knowing that the first slap would always be the worst, but Marshall seemed more interested in continuing to stroke the small of his back than anything more slap-related. Barney shifted, trying to remind Marshall that this whole thing was just for Barney and not about Marshall at all, but Barney kept still for the touch.

"Stop controlling my mind!" Barney said, once he realized just how the long the touch had seduced him. He was going to come and this was going to be over and being over Marshall's lap as he was would have meant nothing at all. He almost couldn't bear the thought.

"It'll come," Marshall said, still gentle. "You'll have to wait for it."

"I don't want to wait for it!" Barney snapped, his face hotter than it had ever been, and just as he was about to push himself off Marshall's lap, the first blow drove him back down to cock-on-thigh level. The pain stung. Definitely-not-sexy-at-all-one-of-the-worst-mistakes-he'd-ever-made-he-wondered-if-Ted-would-help-him-hide-the-body-dear-god-don't-let-himself-come-on-Marshall's-leg-even-though-the-blow-definitely-wasn't-hot came first, then came the silence.

Barney relaxed. The cotton of Marshall's pajama stuck to Barney's cock in only the way cotton dampened with jizz could. Barney's skin burned, but that was okay. He felt Marshall's handprint rise to the surface, and if this way any ordinary naked spanking over a bro's lap, Marshall would say something about it.

But he didn't. He rubbed away the worst of the sting, and Barney allowed himself to be patronized.

"You good?" Marshall asked.

Barney allowed himself to make a non-committal sound, and got spanked again for it. "Oh, fuck off!" he howled.

Marshall actually tsked him. It was like Lily was in the room with them, and wasn't that a fine thought. She'd probably give Marshall pointers on how to optimize his swing. She certainly wouldn't take Barney's side. It didn't feel like cheating. Lily of all people knew boys had to be boys. She'd probably video tape it for posterity's sake. Pun intended. Lily was just that kind of a girl.

"My mistake," Barney said, forcing his voice to be polite but deliberately ground his cock hard against Marshall. It brought tears to his eyes with how good the itchy need felt. Marshall's hand was back on the small of his back, encouraging him to continue, so he did. "Do, go on."

"Don't mind if I do," Marshall said, and did.

God, it was agony. Barney made a mental note to get himself checked in the head even as he panted for more. He arched his back for yet another blow. He definitely had to fire his therapist. After he came, of course. Or perhaps during. God, he hadn't been this easy since before there were only three Star Wars movies. "Marshall, please."

Oh, God. He was begging. That wasn't good. Marshall wouldn't respect him in the morning, but then again he probably hadn't respected him the day before. It was every orgasm for itself. Barney didn't know why he was groping through Marshall's pajamas, or why he let Marshall tell him exactly how hard he liked his cock being jerked. The reciprocating reach around was quite possibly the best sexual experience Barney Stinson had felt that week.

The orgasm lasted for a blissful amount of time, to the point where chafing against the sticky leg of Marshall's pajama presented a real threat. The good feeling lasted well past the actual obligatory wipe down and sock hunt. Marshall even turned the storm trooper's helmet back to survey the room on his way to the bathroom. Long past the usual walk-of-shame time, Barney actually felt content he was still sticking around. It took him a moment to realize part of that was probably more due to the fact that they were still at his place.

The front of Marshall's pajamas were damp after the bathroom, and clung to him in a way that Barney found... interesting. He had his jacket over his arm, ready to go, but he looked down at the remote that had somehow wound up three-quarters of the way across the room.

He picked it up between two fingers, and held it at the television questioningly. Barney was about to refuse -- he had just come, after all, but the Mythbusters hadn't successfully blown up the mock-up of the moon yet. He shrugged.

Marshall turned the television back on. Jamie just finished giggling. They'd obviously missed something good.

Thank god for Tivo. Marshall rewound the program while Barney went to get more beer from the fridge.


End file.
